


after all, it's a competition

by tangentiallly



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/F, Pre-Canon, Unresolved Tension, also feature: jacques lemony R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 16:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20474135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangentiallly/pseuds/tangentiallly
Summary: “I need to change back to my leaf dress, and I assume you’re changing back to your bat propaganda t-shirt, Beatrice.”Beatrice stopped singing, though she didn’t get up. “I found the term propaganda inaccurate,” she yawned on the floor, her arms stretching slowly. “Pull me up, Esme,” she called.Esme rolled her eyes. “Pull yourself up,” she retorted, but she found herself walking over and extending out her hands before she could stop herself.  Beatrice’s hands grabbed onto Esme’s quickly, and Esme resolutely decided to not use any energy to pull her up, just to be petty.  Seconds later, she found herself tumbling down, falling onto Beatrice.





	after all, it's a competition

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: I don't own ASOUE
> 
> please don’t copy this story to another site

It was already past midnight when they finished rehearsing for the play that Saturday. Technically, they only booked the stadium until 10pm, but no one seemed to mind.

Perhaps because it had been a long day and everyone was a little tired, no one was rushing to leave. R and Lemony were leaning against each other, sitting on stage, her long legs stretched out as her gaze fell on Beatrice, who was lying on the stage floor a few feet away, her whole body sprawled out in a manner only Beatrice Baudelaire could manage without looking inelegant. 

Beatrice had already kicked off her black high heels that somehow looked more like bats than heels, and Esme found herself staring at Beatrice’s bare feet and her legs that didn’t look particularly long but did look strong indeed. Even from a distance, she felt she could see the taut muscles of those legs.

Esme’s eyes slowly traced the lines of the muscles down to the ankles. Beatrice had the VFD eye tattoo on one ankle, and a bat tattoo on the other. She was wearing an ankle bracelet with leaf designs on it - the innest new fashion, as of this week. The anklet hung loosely on her ankle.

For such a short woman with short legs, Esme thought, Beatrice’s legs sure did hold a myriad of intrigue and fascination. The shape of the bones of her ankle oddly drew Esme’s eyes without any logical explanation whatsoever, and the tattoos and constant changing shoewear continued drawing her attention back again and again.

If only to know how in Beatrice was dressing recently, and to make sure to be one step ahead of her. Because Esme refused to lose to Beatrice in the competition of staying in, of being the most fashionable actress in The City.

It was about competition, after all.

It was always about competition.

Beatrice was singing a ridiculous song Esme had never heard of while lying on the ground, and despite singing some obscure, definitely not_ in_ at all song, Esme had to give Beatrice the credit of still managing to sing fairly well in such a posture, and after an extremely long day also. It annoyed her that Olaf seemed to know the song too, as the two of them was singing along together, she lying on stage, he sitting near the back of the stage resting against the wall. 

She wondered if it was a song they’d known since their childhood, a song they’d grown up with, and an unpleasant feeling that definitely_ wasn’t_ jealousy twisted in her. Esme attributed the feeling of distaste to the song lacking any fashion or _in_-ness. 

Sitting at the front row closest to the stage, Jacques rubbed his face tiredly. “How does those two still have energy to sing?” 

“Yeah, wish Olaf would shut up,” Lemony agreed.

Jacques raised his unibrow but didn’t comment on that.

Privately, Esme agreed with Lemony, even though she felt that on principle she shouldn’t. So instead, she said loudly, “I need to change back to my leaf dress, and I assume you’re changing back to your bat propaganda t-shirt, Beatrice.”

Beatrice stopped singing, though she didn’t get up. “I found the term propaganda inaccurate,” she yawned on the floor, her arms stretching slowly. “Pull me up, Esme,” she called.

Esme rolled her eyes. “Pull yourself up,” she retorted, but she found herself walking over and extending out her hands before she could stop herself. Beatrice’s hands grabbed onto Esme’s quickly, and Esme resolutely decided to not use any energy to pull her up, just to be petty. Seconds later, she found herself tumbling down, falling onto Beatrice.

It probably spoke something about how strong this petite actress was when she managed to slow down Esme’s fall rather significantly.

Their faces were suddenly very, very close, lips just a few inches apart, noses almost touching. Esme could feel Beatrice’s warm breath at this distance.

Their eyes met, and Esme looked straight into those large, dark brown eyes of hers, noticing every little detail that was too overwhelming all at once. She could feel some kind of tension fast piling up, almost tipping over the edge. The stage and the audience seats further all started fading away, blurring into distance, into nothingness, and there was just Beatrice and her.

Esme exhaled slowly, and then a giggle escaped Beatrice’s mouth, breaking the tension and the almost surreal feeling as if cast by some magical spell. She continued giggling harder and harder, the giggle dissolving into full blown laughter, free and uninhibited. Esme frowned at Beatrice, which only made her laugh harder.

Bizarrely, their hands were firmly entwined together, a fact Esme almost forgot but suddenly was very, very acutely aware of. She clutched Beatrice’s hands firmly, tightly, as if this was some kind of strength contest. Beatrice raised an eyebrow at her, and squeezed her hands with equal if not more force. Her giggle slowly faded away as the expression on her face turned to a competitive, concentrated one, determined to win this.

“Surrender,” Esme said coolly, applying even more force.

Beatrice smiled sharply, a glint in her eyes. “_You_ surrender,” she retorted. 

Faintly, in the background, Esme could hear other people discussing this.

“Beatrice’s going to win,” she heard Lemony said. _Ever so blindly loyal_, Esme thought.

“Definitely,” she heard R agreed. 

“I think Beatrice’s going to cheat,” came Olaf’s comment, and as much as Esme hated to agree with Olaf, she thought that he might have a point in this.

“How can you cheat if there are no rules?” Lemony. _Of course, always nitpicking wordings,_ Esme thought.

“Who wants a taxi ride home?” Jacques asked loudly, trying to talk over all the people debating over Beatrice and Esme.

“Me once I win,” Beatrice shouted. “And I call shotgun.”

“That’ll be never,” Esme murmured, and then Beatrice smiled at her, blindingly, dazzling bright, and Esme felt all energy gone from her arms and her hands and maybe her whole body too, as within seconds Beatrice somehow managed to flip their positions.

“I’m leaving in ten minutes, and not a second later,” Jacques said sternly. “Even if you’re not changed back to your regular clothes and ready to leave then, I don’t care.”

“You’re such a killjoy,” Beatrice lamented with a dramatic sigh. “But fine, if you really want to save Esme from losing, I suppose.” She let go of Esme’s hands, and quickly stood up.

“He’s saving you,” Esme narrowed her eyes at Beatrice. “I thought we should be clear on that.”

“Raincheck,” Beatrice determined. “We’re definitely wrestling this out some other time. After next rehearsal?”

“Bring it on,” Esme smiled, menacing and sweet at the same time.

Beatrice smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> [come say hi on tumblr](https://beatricebidelaire.tumblr.com)


End file.
